


FIC: The Path of Things Undone 1/2

by trancer



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/182636">"Ripples of Undoing"</a>. This is how it all came to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC: The Path of Things Undone 1/2

It is a day typically found in dreams. The sun golden and blazing, the sky a continuous sea of blue, the air warm and speckled with the petals of blossoming trees carried on the light breeze. The faire has come to Aydindril and its streets are teeming with people.

Kahlan and Dennee have spent the afternoon running through the streets as children often do, marveling in wonder and squealing in delight at the jugglers and fire breathers and contortionists.

The day grows long and even little legs filled with childish enthusiasm grow tired. And Kahlan and Dennee sit with their mother and father at the top of a low, sloping hill beneath a shade tree. It overlooks the field where the Midlands best soldiers are demonstrating their skills.

Dennee sits between their mother’s legs, getting her hair braided as she sings to her new doll. Kahlan sits next to their father, greedily licking her fingers clean from the sugared fruits her father secretly bought, enraptured by the soldiers sparring below.

A soldier with shield and sword deftly maneuvers between two larger opponents, the crowd’s roar rolls up the hill like a wave.

“That’s what I want to be when I grow up,” Kahlan declares. “A soldier.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dennee huffs with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Confessor’s can’t be soldiers.”

Shocked at her sister’s words, Kahlan turns her widened eyes to her father. “Is that true? I can’t be a soldier?”

He turns his face to hers, lips spread in a wide smile. He nudges her with his arm. “You can be anything you want to be.”

“I want to be a soldier,” Kahlan nods then she puffs her chest, lifting her chin. “I want to be a General. Just like you.”

“Frederick,” her mother sighs. “Don’t fill her head with such thoughts.”

“She’s a child,” he smiles coyly back at her. “Let her be one for a little while longer. The world does a good enough job crushing children’s dreams, let us not be a part of it.”

Kahlan watches as her mother smiles at her father as she often does when he makes her happy. Then, her mother leans over, her father meeting her halfway and Kahlan scrunches her face as children often do in the presence of adult physical affection.

But, when she turns her eyes back to the field, she thinks she not only wants to be a soldier. She also wants to be like her mother - a Confessor. And she wants to be loved like her father loves her mother. So, Kahlan decides she will be both - a Confessor and a General. And she wants the rest of her days to be as happy as this one.

It will be the last day Kahlan Amnell sees her mother alive.

**

Cara Mason has never been so frightened in all her life. She’s running wildly, frantically through the forest, in nothing more than blind panic.

She can hear the horses behind her, giant steeds with pelts as dark as midnight and eyes as red as hot pokers. But, it’s the red leather of the rider’s that makes Cara run. Like all the children in Stowecraft, she’d heard the stories of the women in red who stole children and turned them into monsters. And though Cara had dismissed the stories with childlike bravado, many a night such stories had kept her awake.

Now, she knows the monsters are real, the monsters are in Stowecraft.

And they’re coming for Cara.

A steed cuts in front of her and Cara darts into the bushes. Only, the ground gives way under her feet and she’s tumbling - down, down, down - an embankment. She lands hard on her stomach, knocks her head against a rock. There’s a thought of escape but, from out of nowhere, a horse is in front of her, rearing back on its hind legs.

A hand grabs her by the front of her dress. She grabs it with both her hands around the wrist, sinks her teeth into the fleshy side of the hand, sinks her teeth until the leather splits and she tastes blood. The woman holding her doesn’t flinch and, for some reason, that terrifies Cara even more.

Lifted like a wet sack of flour, she’s tossed into the back of a cart with thick metal bars, filled with girls like her, crying and wailing, faces streaming with tears and snot. She sees a familiar face, brown hair and blue eyes, the name tickling the back of her mind.

“Dahlia?” she says, blinking.

It’s the only face she knows, in this cart filled with strangers and surrounded by monsters. They reach instinctively towards each other, clutching each other as the cart steals them away..

To the place monsters where are made.

**

“Please.. I.. I can’t.”

Dennee’s crying and she can’t stop. They’re with the man who used to be their father because their mother died and their father changed. He doesn’t smile anymore. He doesn’t touch them anymore.

“Dammit, Dennee!” he shouts, stomping towards her, his hand balling into a fist. And Kahlan steps between Dennee and the man that used to be her father, chin raised high. The difference between Kahlan and Dennee, Kahlan’s not afraid of him.

“I’ll do it,” she says and Frederick practically skids to a stop. He eyes her suspiciously, almost disbelieving. Had Kahlan known the man Frederick used to be, she would recognize the look in his eyes as shame. But she doesn’t, because she’s glancing at her sister who’s still crying. And Kahlan is unable to stop the thought that her sister is.. weak. This is who they are. This is what they do. Sooner or later, it was always going to come to this.

“Fine,” he huffs, shrinking back from her. “Just.. hurry up and get it over with.”

Kahlan doesn’t know his name. All that’s important is that he owes Frederick money. Money Frederick says he will use to buy Kahlan and Dennee new dresses, a hot meal, a bed for the night made with feathers instead of straw. None of that particularly matters to Kahlan. At the moment, all she cares about is power, her power, and the opportunity to use it.

She’s felt it growing within her as naturally as the changes turning her from child to woman. Dennee might still be a child but Kahlan is not. As her gift slowly matures, so has Kahlan’s desire to use it.

The man sits on the forest floor, his back to a tree, his arms bound around it. Nervously, heart in throat, Kahlan slowly walks towards him, her magic swelling, a tightly lidded pot placed onto the fire.

His eyes widen with fear, head shaking back and forth as his lips repeat the word ‘no’ over and over again. He flails his legs, trying to kick Kahlan away. And something swells within Kahlan, something she’s never felt before.

Power.

Here she is, no longer a child, not quite a woman and here he is, a grown adult and terrified of her. She raises her hand, fingers curled like a claw and lunges. Her fingers wrap around his throat, her eyes go black and the power is instantaneous. A heady rush that overwhelms her, it is both pleasure and pain. Pain she’s never felt before. Pleasure she didn’t know her body was capable of producing. The power expands, travels down her arm, through her eyes and into the man who’s throat she has firmly in her grasp.

She watches as his eyes go black then return to normal, and he’s looking at her reverently. “Command me, Confessor.”

Kahlan’s mouth goes slack as something twitches hard deep within her belly. But, the power’s too much, beyond her grasp of control. It saps every ounce of strength from her body. Steals her consciousness as everything goes black and Kahlan slumps, almost lifelessly, to the ground.

“Kahlan..” It’s her father’s voice that stirs her awake. Her head pounds, her body trembling from the power still thrumming through her veins as it recedes. She can hear Dennee in the background, still weeping, still weak.

Kahlan slowly rises to her feet, gazes at the man staring reverently at her. She understood her powers and how they worked. But it was always in the abstract, the intangible. Staring at the man, Kahlan finally understands. He is hers now, for Kahlan to command as she pleases. She knows to use her powers in such a manner, for personal gain, is a violation. But violation is as intangible and abstract to Kahlan as how she once thought her powers worked.

Because, violation or not, all Kahlan wants is to feel the power of her gift humming through her veins once more.

**

It’s Cara’s first kiss.

From the moment they were both stolen from Stowecraft, Cara and Dahlia have been at each other’s sides. Their training finally completed, they are both the pride of their temple. Dahlia for her tactical acumen, Cara for her dominating physicality. They are still teens, with gangly limbs and filling curves, still filling out into the women they will become.

They are alone in the bathing chamber. Cara sits with her back to the wall. Dahlia straddles Cara’s lap, her fingers thread tightly in Cara’s hair, holding Cara’s head still as Dahlia kisses Cara breathless.

Dahlia parts, allowing them both a moment to breathe. Cara looks up at her, dazed and astonished.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like that?” she whispers.

Dahlia blushes even harder than she already is, tilting her head down, gazing up at Cara. “Triana.”

The tiniest of growls rumbles up Cara’s throat as she stiffens. “She should know better by now.”

“Are you going to punish her?”

Emboldened, Cara grips Dahlia by the waist, spins the two around. “Maybe I should punish you instead,” she teases.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like that very much,” Cara says before she brings their lips together once more. Dahlia’s legs rise, the insides of her knees brushing against Cara’s sides and Cara becomes aware of Dahlia ‘there’, the heat she feels pressing against her stomach. Cara pulls back, her look curious, a tinge of hurt that the answer to the question pressing against her lips will be one she doesn’t want to hear.

“Did she,” Cara swallows. “Take you?”

The blush returns to Dahlia’s cheeks. She lowers her head, shaking it back and forth softly. There’s a look on her face, one Cara can’t quite remember the name for. A word that causes her heart to squeeze painfully though it isn’t pain.

Dahlia lifts her head, meets Cara’s gaze. “Triana knows I am yours.”

Cara beams with pride. She presses herself against Dahlia, because she likes the feel of Dahlia’s heat against her, how it makes her own insides flare with desire. She kisses Dahlia on the corner of Dahlia’s lips. “After Lord Rahl comes and bestows upon us his gift, I will make you mine. Forever.”

Dahlia trembles, eyes fluttering. “You wish to make me your mate?”

Pulling back, head tilting, Cara stares back at her. “There’s no one else I wish to be with.”

“Not even,” Dahlia lowers her voice because, though the walls are thick, there are still ears that can hear. “Lord Rahl.”

Cara shakes her head. “I wish to be with no one but you. I will make you my mate and,” she speaks between gentle kisses on Dahlia’s jaw. “I will be your first. Your last. Your forever.”

**

Lord Rahl, Darken Rahl, is younger than Cara thought. Shorter. But, there is no doubt he is the Lord Rahl. It’s in the way he carries himself, the way the power radiates off him.

There are two dozen of them, lined shoulder to shoulder in two rows opposite each other, flanking the red carpet Rahl walks upon. Cara lifts her chin, puffs her chest, filling it with pride. She’s never been more proud to be a Mord’Sith, to serve Lord Rahl dutifully.

Dahlia’s across from her and there’s a moment where their eyes meet. And Cara knows Dahlia’s filled with as much pride as Cara. The thought that, soon, the two will be mates.

Rahl walks the carpet, inspecting them with a regal disinterest. He doubles back, hands clasped behind his back, the recruits already forgotten. Then, Darken Rahl stops right before Dahlia. He says something to Dahlia, though Cara can’t hear his words. She’s been by Dahlia’s side since the day they were stolen from Stowecraft. She can read Dahlia as easily as a book and there’s a growing gnawing sensation in the pit of Cara’s stomach, something she hasn’t felt since before she was broken the first time - fear.

They remain at attention until Lord Rahl leaves the room. The order is given, they all break formation but before Cara can even step towards Dahlia, Dahlia is being whisked away by their commanding Sister’s. Whisked away towards the quarters reserved only for the Lord Rahl.

As Dahlia walks through the large, double doors, she turns and her eyes find Cara’s through the crowd.

It’s the last time Cara sees Dahlia alive.

They tell her Dahlia has betrayed her Sisters for failing to serve Lord Rahl in the manner he saw fit. They call her weak, unfit to be a Mord’Sith. Cara’s Mistresses, the ones who trained Cara and Dahlia, are whipped for not seeing Dahlia’s weakness earlier.

Cara says nothing.

She goes to the pit where the dishonorable are disposed like refuge. Dahlia is there amongst the dead, stripped of her clothes, her decency, her honor. Her lifeless body battered, bloodied, broken for the final time.

Cara knows she should weep but weeping is a useless emotion. Instead, she grips the hilt of the Agiel at her hip, lets the pain center her. Her ‘gift’ from Lord Rahl. As Cara stares at Dahlia’s lifeless body, she makes a promise. She will serve Lord Rahl, do his bidding in whatever manner he sees fit. She will train and learn and Cara will become the greatest Mord’Sith to have ever lived, to have ever served the Lord Rahl.

She promises to do this without thought, without pause, until the day arrives when Lord Rahl hangs by his wrists over the pit, tasting the hiss of an Agiel before Cara flays the skin from his bones.

**

Kahlan doesn’t dare move. She doesn’t dare breathe. She stands on the edge of the forest, hidden behind bushes along with her father. They’d barely made it out of the walled city before the battle had begun. Somewhere behind them, Kahlan knows Dennee is with the rest of the refugees who’d escaped. A part of her thinks she should be with her sister, helping the wounded and the crying.

Instead, she hides with her father, enraptured as the battle rages below. They surged like a red tide, the Mord’Sith and, even outnumbered three to one, they are quick, brutal, effective. And Frederick quietly whispers to an eager to listen Kahlan, explaining their every move.

“Do you see, Kahlan,” his whispers barely contain his excitement. “How they move in groups of four? Their backs always covered?”

Kahlan swallows, unable to tear her eyes away. “You admire them?”

“I admire their efficiency. There isn’t a general alive who wouldn’t want the Mord’Sith at their command.”

Kahlan merely nods. Her eyes have become glued to one Mord’Sith in particular, a streak of blonde on red. She is better than all the others and Kahlan thinks this Mord’Sith could take on the entire Guard on her own. She wonders what it would be like to be Lord Rahl, to have all this at her command, all this.. power. To have ‘her’ at her command, serving her every whim. And she shifts her legs from the sudden flare of heat between them, reminding the child how much a woman she‘s grown into.

The blonde disappears in a giant circle of smoke, Kahlan pouts in disappointment. She turns her head towards Frederick. “Do you miss it?” she asks. “Being a general?”

Frederick’s brows furrow. He brings a hand to his chin, scratching his beard. “No,” he finally answers. “I have more important duties to attend to.”

Then, for the first time since her mother died, Frederick places his hand on her shoulder.

**

Cara enters the bathing chamber. It is empty except for one.

Denna sits on the other side of the pool, arms stretched across the tiles, red lips curving into a smile. “Sister Cara,” she drawls. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Cara bows her head. Lips pursed into a grim line. “I’ve come to ask for your.. assistance.”

Blue eyes narrow as the smile on Denna’s lips widens. She pulls one of her arms off the edge, painting her fingers over the surface of the water. “Continue.”

Cara grips the hilt of her Agiel, the pain slicing through her nervousness. “Lord Rahl has never asked for me to..” she pauses because she can feel the flush coloring her cheeks and, above all, Cara hates anything that shows her as weak. She inhales deeply, lifts her head. “He’s never asked me to pleasure him. When the time comes, I do not wish to appear.. inadequate.” Her head lowers again and she has to take another large breath of courage before she lifts it again and meets Denna’s eyes. “Will you teach me?”

“All Mord’Sith are taught how to pleasure Lord Rahl.”

“I wasn’t,” and Cara pauses off Denna’s audible gasp. “Mistress Nathair thought my time would be best spent learning the fighting arts.”

“She would,” Denna snorts. Then, her head tilts as her eyes lusciously rake down then up Cara’s frame. “Are you telling me you’re still pure?”

“Yes,” Cara answers, and it’s no longer embarrassment coloring her cheeks but shame.

Denna glides across the water, she surfaces, body revealing as she takes the steps upwards out of the pool. She steps to Cara, pressing her body close, placing her fingers under Cara’s chin and lifting Cara’s head so their eyes can meet. “And you would rather give yourself to me than offer Lord Rahl your chastity?”

Her reasons had been simple when she entered the bathing chamber. But now, listening to Denna’s words, seeing the look in Denna’s eyes, Cara’s motivations change and the idea of giving herself to someone other than Rahl begins to have a certain appeal. “Yes,” she answers.

“Good,” Denna grins, bringing their lips together. “I will succeed where Sister Nathair failed.”

**

There’s pain but it’s a mosquito bite compared to all the pain Cara has endured before. Denna takes her time. She is slow, almost gentle, and Cara reaches release several times before Denna’s fingers slide into Cara and take her chastity. Even then, it doesn’t really hurt, not with the way Denna holds Cara’s clit between her lips, pulling and suckling until the pain doesn’t really matter anymore.

An eternity later, after the shudders have subsided and the last of the stars behind Cara’s eyes have burned out, she opens her eyes. Denna is next to her, body flush against Cara’s, a hand propping her head as the other paints lazy patterns on Cara’s stomach.

“I thought..” Cara pauses to lick her lips. “It would hurt more.”

“Don’t worry, my eager little one. It will,” Denna smiles softly, drifting her fingers upwards to circle around Cara’s nipple. “We’ve only just begun. First, I will teach you about pleasure. Then, I will teach you about pain. Finally,” she squeezes the nipple hard between her fingers, Cara hissing and twitching beneath her. “I will teach you how to turn one into the other.”

**

No one told Kahlan it would hurt.

She’s fifteen now. It’s been over a year since she’s seen her father. Since the day the Confessor’s came, Dennee ran into their open arms and Kahlan had to be forcibly subdued, taken back to Aydindril kicking and screaming.

Aydindril. Despite all her fond memories, Kahlan hates it here. HATES it. She hates the confining walls of her room, instead of open forests, the stars as her ceiling and the forest floor as her bed. She hates being still, how her feet aren’t allowed to move no further than the city‘s edge. The same buildings, same people, same roads. She hates the way the Mother Confessor always looks at her, always sorrowed and guilty. She hates how Dennee is flourishing here and Kahlan is not.

She misses her father.

She misses her _freedom_.

It’s why she steals away whenever she can. Doing the things she knows her sister, the Mother Confessor would not approve of. Things like _him_.

His name is Brayson. He’s tall, broad shouldered, with wheat colored hair and dark eyes. Kahlan’s only met him a couple times before. He says he’s only a few years older than Kahlan but Kahlan suspects he may be a little older than that. Especially since he’ll be joining the Guard soon. Not that it matters because Brayson is tall and handsome, and he says all the right things, at all the right times. And when they’re not together, Kahlan thinks of being with him, what their children will look like.

Because, really, that’s all she’s been thinking about lately - IT. What’s ‘it’ like? How does ‘it’ feel? Will doing ‘it’ change her? Make her a woman, less of a woman because it will probably be outside of marriage. Because, Kahlan decides, why should she, as a woman, only be allowed to do ‘it’ with one man, when men are allowed to do ‘it’ with as many women as they see fit.

As she steals away into the night, into the abandoned stable on the outskirts of Aydindril where Brayson told her to meet him, Kahlan knows, tonight will be the night.

The wine Brayson gives her is strong and goes straight to her head. She’s dizzy drunk and his kisses make her dizzier. His touch makes her feel like she‘s floating, like her insides are on fire and she just might burst into flame. As they kiss, his fingers are everywhere - stealing inside her bodice and cupping her breast, drifting down her stomach, caressing and then up her skirt. Where the calloused fingertips between her legs steal her breath away. He eases her down onto the blanket covering the straw beneath them, slides his body between her legs and Kahlan can feel his hardness beneath his trousers. There’s an urgency in him as he reaches between them and unfastens his belt and Kahlan thinks he may be as nervous and excited as she is, and she wonders if this is Brayson’s first time as well.

Then, his hardness is against her opening and he pushes, no, shoves himself inside her. The shock of pain is so strong, Kahlan forgets to cry out. And she just needs a.. moment to adjust to this. But, Brayson won’t stop, not even when she tells him to wait, when she tells him to STOP. She struggles, squirming and writhing beneath him, trying to buck him off. He grabs her hands by the wrists, presses his body against hers, continues pushing, pulling, pushing until he’s convulsing, grunting like a pig as his eyes roll into the backs of his sockets and he releases his seed inside her even though she’d told him not to.

It’s not until he stops, withdraws, rolling off Kahlan and rising to his knees does Kahlan notice she’s crying.

“I said stop,” Kahlan sniffles, drawing her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Your kind always say stop,” he snorts derisively.

Her head whips towards him. “My kind?”

“Cock teases,” he says. His voice is harder now. There‘s none of the sweetness that drew Kahlan to Brayson in the first place. “You flirt, you kiss, you eat the food *I* buy you, drink my wine but when it’s time to pay it’s always,” he lifts his hands in a dainty manner, his voice taking a feminine lilt, “‘No, don’t, stop’. So don‘t pretend you didn‘t want it.”

“You’re not fit to be in the Guard!” Kahlan snaps back. She knows her slight is weak, but it‘s the only thing she could think of.

“Who says I’m joining the Guard,” he sneers triumphantly at her. “Besides, women like you are only good for one thing. I just wanted to be first to put you on your back. Where you belong.”

Kahlan knows she’s been foolish. Knows the only reason Brayson brought her to the abandoned stable on the outskirts of Aydindril was so no one could hear her scream. But, it’s not shame or sorrow that rises within Kahlan. Brayson has no idea who Kahlan is. Brayson has no idea WHAT Kahlan is. It’s night. The stable is dark other than the slivers of moonlight spilling over the barn. He doesn’t see her blue eyes turn instantly to black, or the fingers twitching with want to wrap around his throat.

And no one hears Brayson scream.

Brayson’s body is found a week later, hanging from the rafters of the old stable on the outskirts of Aydindril, his own belt wrapped around his neck.

**

Shota stands on the edge of the Great Hall where the wizards are holding their meeting to name a new Seeker, regardless of the fact that they still don‘t have the Sword of Truth. Where Shota stands as a witness only and not permitted to speak. Individually, each of these wizards fear Shota down to their very bones. But, they are emboldened by their collective numbers and choose to keep her silent rather than listen to reason.

It takes everything Shota has not to sneer at their stupidity.

In the span of two years, they have lost three Seekers and twice as many Confessor’s. It’s time to name a new Seeker and the wizard’s wish to discuss who before they name their choice at Council.

They are all wizards of the Second and Third Order, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The only living wizard of the First Order, Zeddicus Zorander, continues to live behind the veil that separates Westland from the Midlands. Not that Zedd’s guidance would be any more sound than the wizards speaking now.

Shota has seen the paths that lead to the future. Always diverging, always splitting into two - one that leads to peace, one with never ending war. She doesn’t need to be a sorceress to know which path the wizards will choose. Decisions based upon a belief in faulty traditions, politics and patriarchal privilege.

She also knows time is running out. Where the familiar path taken will eventually erase the one most needed. She turns on her heel and leaves. The wizards will make their choice. Shota will make hers.

She will choose the path that is right. She will choose the path where she is needed most. Before time runs out and the doddering old wizards doom them all.

**

It’s not the first brothel Shota has entered and, she already knows, it won’t be her last. The doors open, Shota enters and the tavern immediately quiets. Some know who she is, most don’t. They just know a witch when they see one, know enough not to question, merely divert their eyes and hope Shota doesn’t meet their gaze.

She ignores them, heads for the stairs, knows exactly which door she should step before. The latch is locked and, with a wave of her hand, it opens. The room is lit by a solitary candle. The air stinks of sweat, sex and blood. Bodies, women and men, passed out from drink, exhausted from pleasure are strewn about the room like refuse.

Only one is awake.

Cara sits on a chair in the corner, naked, legs splayed open, slowly drinking a mug of ale. “Sorry, you missed the party,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of a hand. “Then again, there’s always room for one more.”

Shota gazes about the room with an air of disinterest. “I am not here to sate your appetites.”

“Then leave,” Cara growls into her mug.

Shota doesn‘t. She walks deeper into the room, towards the lone candle. Fingers splayed open, she drifts them back and forth over the flame. “How long have you been a Mord’Sith?”

“What business is that of yours?”

“Would you say you are Lord Rahl’s most trusted servant?”

“I am a Mord’Sith, we are all Lord Rahl’s most trusted servants.”

“And you have learned much from him?”

Cara slams her mug on the armrest. “Dammit, woman! Either remove your clothes and service me or leave. We Mord’Sith are many things, patient, especially with meddling questions is not one of them.”

“My apologies,” Shota bows her head. “I shall get to the point then. Would you say you’ve learned more than you’ve forgotten or forgotten more than you’ve learned?”

“I’ve learned what I’ve needed to and forgotten what was necessary.”

“Forgotten what was necessary?” Shota raises an eyebrow. “Such as a promise? To the one who was supposed to be your mate?”

The mug is dropped and, in a flash, Cara’s across the room. Her hand is around Shota’s throat as she slams the woman against the door. “I..” Cara stammers, her face twitching in pain as the memory comes back to her, stabbing her insides with the intensity of an Agiel and Cara wonders how she could have ever forgotten.

“You are more than this, Cara Mason,” Shota whispers forcefully. “More than a plaything for Darken Rahl to use as he sees fit. Drowning your sorrows with whores and ale.”

“Who..” Cara stammers. “Who are you?”

“I am merely a messenger. Here to remind you of what was and portends of what could be. Your true mate still awaits you..”

Cara tightens her grip around Shota’s neck, nudges with her arm. “There will never be another like Dahlia!”

“Perhaps,” Shota stiffens, tired of Cara’s misplaced anger. “But without.. her, your promise to Dahlia will remain just that. A promise.”

“Tell me her name!” Cara growls, her grip tightening. “Tell me!”

“Release me.”

Cara does. She steps back, giving the strange woman a bit of space. But, before she can blink, she feels the tingle of magic. Sees the ghostly smoke swirling around the woman.

And Shota is gone.

**

It’s been years since Kahlan has cried. Not since those first months after her mother died. Despite the presence of her sister, of those around her who are just like her, Kahlan has never felt so alone. So.. different. She misses her father. She misses her mother, though it’s getting harder and harder to remember what her mother looked like. The memories slowly fading like water held in cupped hands.

The loneliness has made Kahlan depressed, the depression has made her reckless. And Kahlan knows its only a matter of time before the Mother Confessor realizes what she’s done. On more than one occasion. After Brayson, it was easier to use the ones with malicious intentions, to take what she wanted, then command them to suicide. But, there were also the innocents. The ones she didn’t intend to confess only to be overwhelmed by her powers. Like the sweet farm girl currently floating facedown in the stream.

Her thoughts have brought her to leaving Aydindril, running away like her father had done. But, she doesn’t know where to go, who to turn to. Her father has no friends, only enemies. There are those she and Dennee confessed but Kahlan has no idea how to find them.

So, Kahlan does the one thing she can do. She cries.

“Kahlan Amnell.”

Her head snaps up to the voice calling her name, fearing the Mother Confessor has found her. But, the woman isn’t the Mother Confessor, though that knowledge doesn’t fill Kahlan with relief.

“Who are you?” she sniffles, rising from the rock she’d been sitting on.

“My name is Shota,” she smiles. Her eyes narrow as she glances at the stream behind Kahlan and the body floating in it. “Did you do this?”

Kahlan can only nod her head, her face scrunching as the sobs wrack her chest.

Shota lifts a hand, waves it and the body bursts into flames. Kahlan steps back, quickly kneeling down to draw her daggers from her boots.

“This ends today, Kahlan,” Shota warns. “You *will* learn self-control.”

“I..” Kahlan stammers. “I don’t understand. Are you.. helping me?”

Shota watches the body smolder to nothing more than cinders carried away by the stream. It’s collateral damage but she admonishes herself for wasting too much time watching from the wings. Too much time letting Kahlan walk alone down a path towards ultimate darkness. “You have a destiny, Kahlan Amnell. And this is not the path to it.”

Kahlan can smell it in the air. Power. Her ultimate aphrodisiac and she steps towards Shota, lowering her daggers because, in this moment, she will follow Shota anywhere if it means having a piece of what Shota can offer. “You’ll teach me?”

“No,” Shota chuckles, noting the sudden flush on Kahlan’s cheeks, her desires blatant. So similar to another young woman. “You will return to Aydindril and finish your Confessor’s training.”

Kahlan’s shoulders sag. “Why?” she whines.

“Because, as someone once said, ‘it is a fool who prefers to speak, rather than listen’.”

Kahlan freezes, her eyes widening. “You knew my mother?” she gasps.

“Yes. Now that your father’s training has ended, it’s time for you to begin your mother’s. You will return to Aydindril. You will listen. You will learn. You will not stray from the path that leads to your destiny.”

“You’ve said that twice now. What is my destiny?”

Shota’s eyes darken, lips curling seductively. “That which you covet more than anything. Understand?”

“No. But,” Kahlan says with a dawning conviction. “It’s what must be done.”

“Good,” Shota smiles, pleased. She steps towards Kahlan. “There is one more thing. There will come a time when you will need to call upon me for assistance.” She reaches into her robes, pulling out a small charm. A small rock with an iridescent blue hue, woven into threads like a bracelet. “All you need to do is hold this in the palm of your hand and think of me. But, this can only be used once, so think long and hard before you use it.”

Kahlan takes the charm, already thinking of the places she could stow it. Head lifting, she squints an eye as she looks back at Shota. “Why do I have the feeling you already know when I’ll call upon you?”

**

The chamber is empty except for Darken Rahl and Denna, who hangs over the pit, body covered in bruises.

“Lord Rahl, you summoned me?” Cara asks, strutting into the chamber.

“Sister Cara,” Darken Rahl smiles. His robe is open, exposing his bare chest covered in a sheen of sweat and trousers slung seductively low, as if he were in his personal chambers about to retire to bed. He meets Cara halfway, arm slinging around her waist as he presses his lips to hers. Cara accepts the kiss, opens her mouth and Rahl slides his tongue across hers. She shivers, fighting the revulsion threatening to wrack her body, and Rahl moans thinking it’s arousal. Cara tilts her head, uses the opportunity to glance at Denna. While her body responds to Lord Rahl’s touch as its been trained to, the arousal doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I thought,” Rahl pauses, licking his lips as he steps away from Cara. “You’d like to join me. I know how much delivering pain brings you pleasure.”

“What has she done?”

“Disappointed me. Again,” is all Rahl offers. It’s all he needs to offer. “I grow bored and thought you’d like the opportunity to entertain me with a demonstration of your skills.”

“Lord Rahl flatters me,” Cara bows her head. She begins circling the pit, a hand raised by her head, finger twirling a lock of hair. With the other, she reaches out, caresses the dark and purpling bruises already coloring Denna’s flesh. “Do you wish for me to break her?”

“No.” Darken Rahl waves a hand. He walks to the small table against the wall, fills the chalice with wine before taking a seat. “I merely wish for you to put her back in her place.”

Cara traces her fingertip down Denna’s spine. “As you wish, my Lord.” She circles back around, steps towards Denna. Denna’s eyes are defiant, angry as Cara lifts Denna’s chin with two fingers then brings her lips to Denna’s. “This,” she says as she parts, tongue licking her lips. “Is going to hurt.”

**

“Have you..” Denna croaks, pausing to lick her dry and cracked lips. “Come to gloat?”

It’s hours later. Long after Cara worked herself to a fever pitch and Rahl did the same after taking Cara to his chambers. Denna left to hang over the pit.

Cara swaggers deeper into the room, hands clasped behind her back. She walks towards the table against the wall, setting down the small clay jar hidden in her curled fingers. “No, Denna,” she says, refilling the long forgotten chalice with more wine. “I didn’t come to gloat.”

Denna’s eyes narrow and she’s glad Cara’s back is turned because her look of confusion would be perceived as weakness. “Then, why have you come?”

Turning, Cara walks towards the pit, cup in hand. She places it to Denna’s lips. It’s wine instead of water and Denna drinks it greedily. The alcohol burns against the cuts on her lips but Denna is a Mord’Sith, she is accustomed to pain. A few hungry gulps later, Cara withdraws the cup. “I came here to repay you.” Her face is blank but there’s a hardness in her eyes. “For teaching me how to properly please Lord Rahl.”

Denna sneers. “You are his favorite whore.”

Cara snorts at the slight. She turns again, walking back to the table where she sets down the chalice, begins removing her gloves. “Darken Rahl is beginning to think you are a threat. He called you ‘an opportunist in Mord’Sith clothing’.”

Denna twists her head so she can see fully, not caring if her confusion is considered weakness. “Sister Cara?”

Cara doesn’t answer. She walks towards the pulley on the wall, turns the metal and Denna’s chains lower. Denna groans in relief as her feet touch the ground and the strain on her arms releases. And Cara is before her again, dipping two fingers into the jar of salve. “Not Sister Cara,” she says, showing Denna her salve covered fingertips. “Today, my name is opportunity.”

Mord’Sith are meant to endure pain, not medicate themselves against it. If found, the salve in Cara’s hands would mean beatings for them both. Denna doesn’t know what price Cara will ask her to pay. At the moment, she doesn’t care. For a long stretch of time, there are no words as Cara slowly and thoroughly applies the salve, working upwards from Denna’s bruised legs to her bleeding face, and Denna moans as if in pleasure. Then, pressing her body flush against Denna’s, one hand wrapping around Denna’s waist, Cara’s salve-covered fingers enter Denna and it is pleasure.

“I thought..” Denna pants, ignoring the pain in her arms as she lifts both legs, draping them over Cara‘s hips, ankles hooking together. “You were pulling your punches.”

Cara smiles. “And still, you screamed as if in ultimate agony.”

Free hand fisting in Denna’s hair, Cara possesses, dominates Denna’s mouth, battering Denna’s tongue into submission as she thrusts and pumps her fingers into Denna. The student who has surpassed the teacher.

“What..” Denna pants. “Do you want from me?”

Cara tightens her grip on Denna’s hair, flicks her tongue over the opened lips. “Your allegiance.”

“To Lord Rahl?”

Green eyes narrow as pink lips curl into a feral grin. “To me.”

“Sister Cara,” Denna husks. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Is that a yes?”

Denna has always known who and what she was and, she thinks, Lord Rahl is right. She is an opportunist in Mord’Sith clothing. And Denna has never been one to turn her back on opportunity. “Yes.”

The deal is sealed as Mord’Sith do - with pleasure and pain, and the walls of the pit echo with Denna’s screams once more.

[PART TWO - "Kahlan is unimpressed with the wizard named Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/182639)

**


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